


Before the Dawn's Early Light - Supernatural

by WaywardSun1



Series: Carry On, My Wayward Sons of Liberty [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Revolution, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Men in uniform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSun1/pseuds/WaywardSun1
Summary: American Revolution AU. It's the year 1781 and Castiel is the head of intelligence for General Washington. Dean is a cavalry lieutenant under Castiel’s direct command.Dean and Castiel began life as childhood friends and now they’re deeply in love...but because it’s 1781, they also risk being discovered for the cardinal sin of homosexuality, for which the penalty is to be shamed in front of the entire army and hanged. To make matters worse, Dean’s brother Sam is a highly influential member of Congress, and rumors are flying that Castiel is actually having an affair with Sam’s wife Ruby, one of the army’s most important spies.Will Dean and Castiel be able to handle their secret, or will their fear of being caught and executed keep them apart forever?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published by me in the Turn: Washington's Spies fandom and altered for Supernatural

**Morristown, NJ**

**Continental Army Encampment**

Castiel was comfortable and warm and sleepy, and in no mood to go out on patrol. If any moments in his life had ever seemed impossible to overcome, they were now deemed inexpressibly easy compared to getting out of bed on a morning like this. Over two feet of snow on the ground, freezing rain, and wind blowing like the devil in and around the thin tent. Not that anything could be seen in the pitch black of that hour before dawn. But a sergeant had just come to bellow and wake him as duty required, and so he would have to go out and freeze his arse off for six hours, in the name of the cause. There was no getting out of it.

Or maybe there was…but after several long minutes of pondering deserting the army or resigning his commission in order to get a few hours of shut-eye, he dismissed the idea and turned bodily around underneath the blankets to take a few precious moments to spoon his equally warm and comfortable companion.

"Hey…it's almost sunrise," he finally whispered with regret into a barely exposed ear.

"Wha….ugh…." came the muffled reply.

"I've got to go. I'll miss you, but…we can do this again tonight, I hope?"

"Mmmmpphhhmm."

Castiel kissed the ear, covered it up with the blanket, and slipped out of the cot as fast as he dared, yelping in surprise at the icy air. There was a suppressed, prolonged giggle from under the blanket.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" Castiel muttered as he lit a candle, pretending to be mad but actually grinning from ear to ear as he proceeded to don every layer of clothing he could find. "Your time will come soon enough. Enjoy your beauty rest while you can."

"Oh I will, don't worry. But not as much as I did with you."

As Castiel pulled his boots on, he fondly regarded the unmoving lump under the blanket. He had never expected to be here like this, not in a million years, but, here he was. Here they were. And it was perfect. There was nowhere else he'd ever want to be again. But as he pondered the sight, his joy turned into an alarming stab of dread for the hundredth time this week, ever since their first night together a few days ago, spent gently exploring each other’s bodies in the dark...in silence...in wonder...and in fear.

He blew out his candle and tentatively sat back down on the bed, smoothing his hand over the dark patch of hair that was smushed into the pillow, sticking out in all directions, the hood of the old linen nightshirt having gone missing somewhere in the linens during the rather eventful night.

"Hey," Castiel whispered, uncovering the frozen ear again and giving it another gentle kiss. "I gotta go. Will you promise to do me the honor of returning to my tent again tonight?"

"I’d make that promise,” came the teasing reply. “But if you’re captured by the enemy, I’ll have to find another soldier to keep me warm.”

"Well I won’t be, so you’d b-"

Before he could say more, the lumpy form suddenly shifted, and Castiel felt those luscious warm lips on his own and a strong hand gripping the front of his coat. He pressed into it, senses on fire at both ends, willing time to stand still and allow him to stay in this moment forever.

"I love you, Cas," said the invisible mouth as it pulled back, breaking the spell heartbreakingly soon.

Castiel sat up abruptly and stared into the black void with misty eyes, barely able to speak past the huge lump in his throat. He covered the hand that was still gripping his lapels, squeezed it for a few moments, and then pried it away gently as he stood up. The contact was broken. Perhaps never to be established again, if his patrol finally met the enemy for once. It was such a frightening thought that it utterly froze him in his tracks for a long moment.  

“Cas?” came a tentative, scared question from the dark space below him. “I’m sorry if…I hope I didn’t...did I ruin…? It was too soon, wasn’t it?”

"No. Shhhh.” Castiel’s heart pounded as he kneeled on the ground and somehow managed to find those warm lips on the first try. He put a finger over them to shush any further protests, and then reached around with his other hand to gently but lustfully squeeze Dean’s rear. “No. It wasn’t soon enough, actually. I love you, too. Always have.”

"Me too."

Another squeeze. Hands sliding down further. They kissed again, longer this time, until Castiel had to break away.

“Does this mean I'll see you tonight, then?” he queried somewhat breathlessly as he stood again and rearranged everything in his breeches to hide his arousal. “You never answered me earlier.”

“No, you won't see me tonight,” Dean replied mischievously as he leaned over to steal another quick kiss.

Castiel paused, his heart skipping a beat. "....Oh? May I ask why not?"

"Because it will be too dark in here to  _ see  _ anything!”

Castiel stifled his laugh so that half the camp wouldn't hear him. Dean could be such a brat sometimes.

And he loved it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Morristown - Ford’s Mansion**

**HQ of General Washington**

The General acknowledged silently to himself that he would rather be standing in the middle of a bonfire at the moment, rather than rooted here, waiting to confront his head of intelligence about some dastardly rumors that had recently found their way to his ears. This would not be a happy meeting, that much was certain, and there had been several unpleasant conversations with Novak lately. Far too many. He was greatly annoyed at having to add yet another conflict to the list.

The tent flap opened silently as Castiel poked his head in. Washington turned to his valet, Billy, nodding at him to leave them alone. Castiel spotted the expression on his commander's face and braced himself accordingly as he made his way up to the edge of the desk. Normally he would announce himself, or query why he had been summoned, but not this time. Being on the receiving end of a look like that would render even the bravest of warriors speechless. He kept his mouth shut, bowed very slightly, and gripped his sword with white knuckles.

"Major Novak," began Washington, who faltered slightly as he searched for the appropriate words to address the situation. Perhaps he should have rehearsed this, he thought grimly. No use now, best to come out with it. With something. Anything…anything….

"Sir?" prodded Castiel, as politely as always. He was already breaking out into a cold sweat.

Washington cleared his throat. "I've heard some interesting rumors lately. Most I can disregard, but one in particular concerns you, and is impossible for me to leave unaddressed. I don't want you to confirm or deny it. Just make it go away."

Castiel was certain Washington could see his heart pounding through his coat. He had kept many secrets from his commander, and had told more than one untruth in the past year. What exactly had been uncovered? he wondered. Any of them could mean the end of his beloved career. One very recent secret, in particular.

He prayed that wasn't it.

"Of course, sir. Whatever it is, I can manage it."

Washington stared at him ferociously. "I certainly hope you can. You are to sleep in your own tent from now on, major. Every night. By yourself. Am I clear?"

Castiel nearly choked upon this directive, his mind racing wildly to come up with some kind of response that could mitigate this situation. Of all the secrets he could have found out about, this was the most damaging of all. Washington had every right to throw him out of the army right there and then. He even had the right to hang him for it, if he wanted…along with Dean.

"I…I…yes, sir." Castiel was outwardly calm, but inwardly shattered to his very core, and wanted nothing more than to be executed on the spot right here in the tent, rather than go back outside, unknowingly facing whoever in the camp had spilled his secret. Their secret. Their former secret, rather.

Washington nodded. "I can tell by your reaction that the rumors are true. Of course I understand this is a difficult situation. And I acknowledge the need that men have at such times. I am not made of stone. But we cannot let this continue for another moment, as you most certainly agree. It stops today."

"Yes, sir."

Washington now lost eye contact with Castiel, who was staring at the floor in far more misery than he had apparently experienced in their previous confrontations. Feeling too much like a stern father, he added, "I must say, Castiel, I'm baffled that you would take such a risk with your reputation. And hers."

Castiel's eyes now shot up to meet Washington's quizzically. What did he just say..?

Hers?

Did Washington really just say…

_…hers?_

He continued firmly, "You are not to meet - or sleep - with her again. Not while she is married to a member of Congress and brother of your most trusted officer! Both of whom I desperately need to keep on our good side, no less. I'm extremely disappointed with your poor judgement, to say the least, but this will be my last mention of it as long as you heed my wishes."

"I will. Thank you, sir," Castiel croaked, flushing red from head to toe.

"You may dismiss."

Castiel bowed stiffly and left the tent in a daze, making a beeline for one of his corporals who was standing nearby on watch, busily warming himself over a small fire. He bolted straight up when Castiel approached.

"Corporal," said Castiel sharply, "keep an eye out for Lieutenant Winchester and send him to my tent the moment he returns. I believe he's due back in an hour."

"He's already here, sir, talking with Mrs. Ruby at the water well."

Castiel turned around to follow his gaze and saw both of them standing there, looking back at him curiously. He suppressed his embarrassment and thanked the corporal, then silently beckoned Dean to join him in his tent. Alone.

Dean took his time about it, and Castiel's agitation quickly turned into anger while he waited, fingers tapping impatiently against his sword.

"Hello, Angel."

Castiel turned as Dean came into the tent, then blurted out with irritation, "Why are you not on patrol?"

Dean's grin fell off his face, but he walked up to Castiel, affectionately taking a hold of both sides of the unhappy man’s lapels. "Had someone take over for me. What's wrong with you? Thought you'd be happy to see me."

Castiel pried Dean's hands off his coat - not as gently as he could have - and stepped back, glaring holes through his friend.

"Alright," Dean said contritely. "I'm sorry, should have asked. Won't happen again."

"Yes, you should have. But I'm not upset about that, Dean," Castiel admitted. "Washington just confronted me. He knows I've been…well, not sleeping in my own tent lately. Someone's been talking."

Dean instantly went pale.

Castiel shook his head, trying to ward off his rising panic. "No, it's not that. He thinks I'm having an affair with Ruby."

"Christ. Did you deny it?"

"No, because I thought...Dean, this means…this means we can't…not even if he hadn't ordered me, it doesn't matter, it's about Ruby, but you can't, I can't, we can't…"

"Slow down, Cas," said Dean calmly, getting the gist of all the reasons for the panic, but finding no need to panic himself. In fact, he was quite relieved that Ruby was the suspect.

Castiel continued rapidly as he flailed his hands around, "He reprimanded me once I didn't offer any defense. It's not like I could set the record straight by telling him he was wrong about who I've been sleeping with."

Dean grinned. "No, but I'd give my left arm to see his expression if you did. Actually, no need to give it to him. He'd probably rip it off me and beat us both with it."

“This isn’t funny, Dean,” Castiel grumbled warningly.

"I know. So should I go tell Ruby you can't speak with her anymore?"

Castiel sighed. "Yes. And you'll have to tell her why. She's going to wonder why I didn't deny it. What should we say?"

"Don't worry, I'll think of something. Maybe tell her that I’m the one who will be collecting her intelligence reports from on. I got this. Try not to panic.”

Castiel looked anything but calm. “Won’t she get suspicious?”

“Cas, I’m her brother in law. She trusts me. And it’s not a lie, in any case, if that’s actually what you order…hint, hint.”

"Yes.” Castiel straightened up, a little bit calmer now. “You will collect the reports from now on, Lieutenant Winchester. Please inform Ruby we can no longer meet. Thank you."

Castiel turned away, despondent and lost in thought, as he fingered the ivory hilt of his favorite cavalry sabre.

"So…where does that leave us, then?" Dean asked, very quietly. Almost a whisper.

Castiel turned around, all business again. "Well, he ordered me to sleep in my own tent from now on. Alone. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do but accept that.”

"Sounds like you handled it fine. But he's going to sneak in here at all hours and check your bed, you suppose?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him these days. But it doesn't matter since I can't disobey him."

There was a long silence, and then Dean backed up towards the tent flap and said bitterly, "Right. Well, I'd better go. See you around."

Castiel stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be angry, Dean. This isn't my doing."

"Yes it is," he replied coolly. "I told you that inviting Ruby to your tent was a bad idea. Neither of you would listen to me. You should have met elsewhere. Now look where it's gotten us."

"No, we're lucky. It could have been so much worse, you know that."

Dean looked aghast. "What's worse than not being able to…to…"

Castiel didn't have an answer. Instead, he barked irritably, “Aren’t you supposed to be out on patrol?”

“I just...yes, sir.” Without another word, Dean vanished through the tent flaps.

Castiel slept alone that night, deeply peaceful in knowing their secret was safe.

Dean didn't sleep at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**5 Days Later....**

"Ruby wants to speak to you, says it's urgent," Dean told Castiel quietly as they crossed paths on the way to separate destinations - Castiel to unsaddle his horse, and Dean to get one of his pistols repaired by the blacksmith. It had been five days since Washington's directive, and things were simply going to shit in all directions with Castiel and Dean's relationship…if there was anything left of it, that is. Which it appeared there wasn’t.

Castiel looked at him askance as he kept walking. "No. You told her what happened, I thought?"

"Yes, sir. But Washington will be out of camp soon, won't he?"

Castiel stopped in his tracks, his expression now carefully controlled. He would never disobey his orders on this particular matter, whether or not Washington would ever know about it.

"Whatever she has to say to me needs to go through you. We've talked about this already."

"Things have changed, Cas. She wants to leave camp. Tomorrow morning. For good."

"To go where?"

Dean replied, "Back to Sam in Philadelphia, where else? She wasn’t happy about being basically demoted to a messenger. If you want to keep her here, you need to talk to her."

Castiel swore under his breath. "For the last time, no. She needs to finish her work. This is not negotiable. We're so close to finding out who is infiltrated our camp, and she’s the only one who has a friendship with our suspect."

"Then you better get Washington's permission to talk to her. Because she’s not listening to me." He reached out and took the reins of Castiel's horse. "Go catch him now, before he leaves."

"Alright. I suppose I'd better. Thank you." Castiel patted his horse on the neck, straightened up, and grimly moved towards the big white house on his next mission. He had to wait almost 40 minutes to see the commander in chief, but it gave him the time he needed to practice and phrase his request carefully.

Once he was at the foot of the desk, he forgot everything he was about to say and floundered around with the words. "Sir. Mrs. Ruby is requesting to speak with me to discuss intelligence. I'm afraid she feels strongly towards departing camp, now that we…are no longer able to discuss matters directly. She no longer feels effective in that capacity.”

Washington frowned. "But surely Lieutenant Winchester can relay your messages? Is that not what you've been doing?"

Castiel braced himself. "It's not working, sir. We need to talk face to face. I'm here to request your permission for us to start meeting again. To discussion intelligence matters only."

"Hmmmm."

"That's all we will do, sir, on my word," Castiel added belatedly, blushing from the neck up. He was stiff as a board and not a little afraid of what was going to come next.

Washington smiled a little. "Relax, major. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Castiel did not move, but his eyes darted back and forth as he tried to grasp Washington's meaning. "I…this is very awkward for me, sir. I apologize."

"I assure you, the feeling is mutual. You may meet with her. But before you do, I want you to write a letter to Congressman Winchester explaining to him what's been going on."

Castiel almost choked at that. Washington couldn't possibly mean..?

"Not that you've been having an affair with his wife," he added hastily. "But that, as you have been unwisely meeting in your tent, inevitable rumors have surfaced which you want to assure him in advance are not true, before he hears them himself. Especially before he visits here again."

"Yes, sir." His tone was so stern that Castiel felt like bursting into tears suddenly. He desperately wanted to reassure him the rumors were false, but how could he do that without exposing the more dangerous truth?

"After the letter is sent, you may meet with Mrs. Ruby again. But not in your tent. You can meet here. Those are my conditions."

“With respect, it has to be in my tent, sir. Our infiltrator will find out if Ruby comes here, and the game will be be up. My only interest lies in preserving her cover.”

”See that it stays that way. You may meet in your tent again, with the presence of Lieutenant Winchester as well.”

Castiel blushed again, this time at the thought of what everyone would think about Ruby being in a tent with two men. He was also greatly annoyed that Washington apparently didn’t trust him alone with Ruby, but he only had himself to blame for that.

“Sir, that’s not going to do much to improve her reputation. Or mine.”

Washington stared him down so savagely that Castiel wished a hole in the floor would open up and swallow him up.

“You may meet alone. Is there something else bothering you? You seem to be holding back.”

His tone was clearly was a mix between a warning to watch his tone and sincere concern. Castiel swallowed hard and forced himself to stay perfectly respectful.

"Yes, sir. May I ask…what if I wish to spend time with someone besides Ruby?” He cleared his throat and then added bluntly, “In other words, am I now required to ask for your express permission to not sleep alone?"

Castiel never would have believed he could make Washington blush or make him speechless, but…there it was. The man didn't know what to say for several long moments.

”You have someone else already?” he asked incredulously. 

Castiel kept a perfectly straight face despite being asked such a shockingly intimate question. Even Washington seemed surprised at himself for asking it, and looked about to retract it. Castiel was secretly amused to find that he was enjoying Washington’s discomfort.

“Yes, sir. At least, I hope so.”

Washington cleared his throat. "I apologize if I…that question was quite inappropriate. The prohibition applies only to Mrs. Ruby. But, as I said before, you are to sleep in your own tent, whether alone or otherwise. That condition I will not remove.”

"Thank you, sir," Castiel said with an absolutely straight face. But inside, he was smiling. He would have Dean back, then. With Washington's permission, too, even though he didn't know it.

And in his own bed.

Even better.


	4. Chapter 4

"Not tonight. Not for a while," Castiel said firmly, gently shoving Dean back a step, hating himself for being so outwardly cold. It wasn't how he actually felt, at all. He was burning with passion inside, but it was outweighed by the fact that he was also skittish as a spooked horse, especially because Washington hadn't left camp for a few days as planned. Four days later, he was still here, damn him to hell.

Dean grinned slyly as he took a hold of Castiel's sword belt and slid his hand downwards, deep beyond the snug waistband of the breeches. "Didn't say anything about spending the night, did I, angel?"

"No, but-"

"So let's go to my tent for a little while."

Castiel fished the wandering hand out of his breeches and stepped back, slightly horrified. "Dean. Please, just…be patient."

"I am, Cas! Been a long time since I laughed at you for getting dressed in the dark-"

Castiel nearly leaped out of his skin when Colonel Singer suddenly poked his head in the tent.

"Come in, sir," Castiel said as normally as possible, wondering if his heart would ever start beating again.

"Old man wants to see us."

Castiel nodded. It was highly unusual to be summoned by anyone other than Washington's guards, which meant Singer wanted to intercept him first and talk on the way to the house. They both looked at Dean, who excused himself in usual cheeky way.

"Something wrong?" asked Castiel, with his heart lodged firmly in his throat.

"Yes, actually. Sam Winchester is here, and quite foaming at the mouth. The General seems to think you have something to do with it."

Shit. The letter had only gone out three days ago, there was no way Sam could have possibly received the explanation of why rumors were floating around that Castiel was snogging his wife.

He tried to keep his tone normal. "But he wants to see both of us? You _and_ me?"

Singer cocked his head. "That's what he said. Do you know why Mr. Winchester is so angry with you?"

"I do, but I'm not sure I'm at liberty to explain it. I have a feeling you're about to hear all about it, though."

"Can't wait. Put your coat on, then, and let's go."

Castiel turned around and picked up the heavy blue and silver coat, wondering if this would be the last time he would ever be able to wear it as an officer in the Continental Army. Apparently Singer was thinking the same thing.

"You look as though you're on your way to your execution," he joked airily.

Castiel glanced sidelong at him, irritated at the jibe. "That's one possible outcome," he retorted as he slipped his arms into his jacket.

Singer grimaced. "Sorry. I was only trying to lighten the mood."

"Sam thinks I'm having an affair with his wife," Castiel blurted suddenly. "So I’m not sure anything could lighten my mood at the moment." He slid the sword into the scabbard with more force than necessary, and then added, "Let's go." Suddenly remembering he was speaking to his superior officer, he threw in an apologetic and belated "sir" before stopping to open the tent flap for him.

They began to walk to the house, and Singer whispered, "Dare I ask if it's true?"

Castiel willed himself to utilize the respectfully friendly tone he had always employed with Singer. His anxiety wasn't the man's fault, and there was no point whatsoever in making an enemy of him by being rude. Especially because he liked him, despite his tendency to make ill-timed jokes at Castiel's expense.

“It’s far more complicated than I have time to explain right now," he replied carefully. There was no other answer he could give without also admitting he lied to Washington.

Singer looked sideways at him with narrowed eyes. "Ah. And how on earth did Sam get a whiff of it?"

"Camp gossip, of course. Somehow it got to Philadelphia. At least…I think that's what we're here about." The thought that it could be another subject entirely just struck Castiel, and he cringed at the thought of possibly having told Singer far more than he needed to hear - on the wrong issue entirely, no less.

They halted in front of the house to let a string of visitors leave. Sam's carriage was nearby, horses still attached and footmen waiting. So at least this wouldn't be a very long meeting, which brought Castiel a very small measure of relief.

He waited a little longer to go in than was proper, and it took Singer nudging his arm to get him to climb the low stone steps and go inside. Washington was sitting at his desk, and Sam standing nearby stiffly, looking as though someone had…well, had an affair with his wife.

“Congressman," Castiel said steadily, trying to appear as normal as possible. "How good to see you again."

Sam nodded curtly, but said nothing. That was not a good sign, and Castiel immediately knew he was indeed here about Ruby. But why was Singer here as well?

Washington stood up. "Gentlemen…Singer, close the door. Thank you. Gentlemen, we have a problem here. Word of Mrs. Ruby’s intelligence work has reached ears in Philadelphia, and her true name has apparently fallen into the hands of the enemy. Mr. Winchester has come here, rightly so, to demand an explanation from you, Major Novak, and also obtain a plan to protect his wife from reprisals."

Castiel shifted his glance to Sam, who was staring at him so angrily that Castiel was reminded of all the times he had pranked him when they were children. Sam hated being pranked, which naturally made him a frequent target of Dean and Castiel's machinations.

"Well, major?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know what to say," Castiel admitted after a few long moments. "I'm sorry. I will answer you more fully, but I need time to think and do some research. How long are you in camp?"

"Not long enough to get an explanation of this debacle. I'll await your letter. But perhaps we can resolve another matter in the meantime."

Castiel's hair stood on end. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as all eyes shifted to him, silently questioning and judging.

"What matter is that?" he queried calmly, trying to remember to breathe normally.

Washington looked back and forth between them. "One that is perhaps better served with a private conversation, may I assume?"

"If you don't mind, General," responded Sam, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel. "Is there a room in the house we may borrow for this discussion?"

"Upstairs, the bedroom at the end of the hall on the left. I assure you, it is completely private. Take all the time you need."

Sam nodded and gestured at Castiel to go up the stairs first. He went immediately, feeling like an errant child about to get beating…even though his conscience was clear. Or was it?

They entered the bedroom in silence. Sam shut the door, keeping his back turned to Castiel for a few long moments before diving into the issue at hand.

"There was more than just word of her spying that reached me," Sam began ominously as he walked around the room slowly, throwing a loaded glance at his anxious friend.

"I'm not having an affair with your wife, if that's what you’re planning to ask me.”

Sam now turned and stared at him, shocked by the tersely challenging tone in which this statement was issued.

Castiel continued without waiting for a response. “Three days ago I sent you a letter regarding the rumors and explained the reason behind them. If you don’t believe me you can ask Ruby yourself, if you'd like. She hasn't left camp yet."

Sam looked confused. "What you do mean, yet? She's planning to leave?"

"Yes, sir. To return to you in Philadelphia...to reconcile. Hopefully."

Sam started a little in dismay; he wasn’t aware that his marital difficulties with Ruby were known to Castiel. Dean must have blabbed. "I see. Back to the issue at hand. Washington said you confirmed to him that you were…having inappropriate relations. He was even forced to order you not to see her. So which one of us are you lying to?"

Castiel felt an enormous flash of anger and embarrassment course through his entire body. How dare Washington?

How dare he?

"Well?" Sam demanded, his voice tightening dangerously as he somehow grew even taller.

Castiel fought to think as he struggled to push aside the sudden, overwhelming desire to throttle his beloved but aggravating general.

"It’s not what it seems. Ruby and I had been spending a lot of time together to discuss intelligence, and he felt it improper - which was the whole point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We needed the rumor as cover for her presence in my tent,” Castiel explained impatiently. “But he thought the risk of those rumors getting back to you was too great. Well that's exactly what happened, didn't it? And I assure you that's all it is: rumors. You know me better than that, Sam. Then he-"

"I thought I did. But Washington said-"

Castiel cut him off and raised his voice. "Allow me to finish, if you please? He then started lecturing me about not sleeping in my own tent, and-"

"You were sleeping in her tent?" Sam fumed.

"No, wait…just let me explain. I thought when he confronted me that he was telling me to stop seeing the real person I'm having a relationship with. The person in whose tent I was sleeping in. Which, I assure you, was definitely not Ruby's. But he didn’t say any names. It wasn't until the end of the conversation I realized he was referring to Ruby, and by then it was too late. I swear to you, Sam, I inadvertently admitted to an affair with your wife because I thought he was talking about someone else. In hindsight I should have realized what he was implying, but…well, it's too late now."

It took Sam a few moments to absorb this unexpected but highly interesting argument.

"That's absurd! It's been a week now, and you haven’t clarified the situation? That makes no sense. I repeat, which one of us are you lying to?"

Castiel felt like crying from frustration, anger, and embarrassment. He lowered his voice.

"Washington. Though not lying outright. I’m just...not correcting his assumption.”

Sam was astonished. “Why not?“

“Because the truth is worse than letting him think it was Ruby. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to resign. Right now."

Sam's earlier rage had been tamped down considerably by this explanation, if not extinguished altogether, and he quickly moved to block Castiel’s exit. His childhood friend - and on very rare occasions, also his foe - stopped and looked up at him angrily, ready to explode on the spot.

"Calm down, Castiel," he said quietly. "And don't start a fight with Washington over this. He had no choice but to tell me."

“Yes, he did!” Castiel nearly shouted. “This is bullshit, Sam! Don’t do that. I’m not a child anymore.”

This last part was blurted out when Sam had put his hands on Castiel's shoulders, in the brotherly, calming way he used to before the war. Castiel violently shrugged them off, crossed to the other side of the room, and stared out the window with a ferocity of expression that surprised and unsettled Sam.

"Cas," he said eventually, very quietly. "I believe you. Thank you. And I think I understand what you're trying to tell me - or rather, trying not to tell me. If my assumption is correct, you did the right thing in order to protect yourself. And him."

Castiel spun around to look at him. "What do you mean? Him, who?"

Sam paused for a moment, then said, "I have to leave for Philadelphia now. And considering this is a war, and we might not see each other again, I want our last conversation to be remembered with the utmost friendship and understanding. And trust. Do you agree?"

"Yes." Castiel swallowed hard, and said with all the fortitude he could muster, "I trust you with my life, as I always have.”

Sam nodded. “Same. Then tell me...who are you really seeing?”

“As I have just explained, it’s not Ruby.”

Sam smiled a little, knowing from Castiel’s current posture and expression that he would not say another word on the subject, no matter what kind of pressure he would be put under to do so.

"No need to tell me anyway, I've already figured it out. And I trust you with my wife, as I should have all along. I'll tell Washington as much before l take my leave. You and Dean need to be extremely careful, but you obviously know that.”

“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re implying, Sam.”

Sam looked sideways at him. “Are you serious? Cas, I’ve known you both my entire life. I’m only surprised it took this long. Where is Dean, anyway?”

“His tent is the one closest to the house, with the red trim. I think he’s there now. Please don’t-”

“I won’t say anything. You have my word.”

"Thank you.” Castiel kept his expression perfectly neutral in order not to betray his fear and irritation at Sam’s guessing the truth...Castiel was self-aware enough to know all his current emotions would soon be replaced by relief and gratitude.

"Don’t thank me yet. You still owe me an explanation of how Ruby’s name got out, and what you are going to do to protect her. I'll expect a letter from you within ten days explaining the plan, and it better be a good one."

"You'll have it. I'm sorry that you had to travel all the way up here for such a short meeting."

"It was no trouble. I'm glad I got to speak with you in person. Promise me you won’t resign over this?”

Castiel shifted reluctantly, finally feeling blood rushing to his brain again as Sam smiled at him sadly.

“I-I won’t promise, but I’ll reconsider it.”

“Don’t do it. He needs you. As do I.”

Castiel scoffed. “Washington has a dozen other qualified officers lined up for this job.”

”I wasn’t talking about the General. But yes, him too, in any case.”

”Sam-”

”I have to go, Cas. It was good to see you.”

Sam stuck out his huge hand, and they shook solemnly. Then he walked out, and Castiel was alone.

But he wasn't done with this yet.

Washington. He had to confront him.

First, Castiel went into the bedroom next door for a better view of the camp and watched Sam go into Dean’s tent. He emerged only a couple minutes later, looking happy as he climbed back into his carriage. When it pulled away Castiel counted to one hundred, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs. Washington was waiting for him, alone. He went up to the end of the desk and bowed very slightly.

"Sir, may I speak?" asked Castiel shortly, although not quite sure how to start the conversation without devolving into a bitter argument almost immediately...even though a large part of him wanted exactly that.

Washington did not wait for any preamble. “I can see how angry you are, and with good reason. His line of questioning caught me off-guard, and I inadvertently revealed something I did not mean to. I assure you, it was completely unintentional."

Castiel was startled by the familiarity of that excuse. A line of questioning…caught off guard…inadvertently revealed…it was all exactly what happened to him when he accidentally confessed to the non-existent affair. They had both been caught in the same kind of trap.

"I owe you an apology," Washington continued, "which I hope you will accept in all the sincerity it is intended. Apparently there was a limited amount of damage, considering Mr. Winchester has apparently already forgiven you. In fact, he insisted I continue to let you meet with his wife. That was rather extraordinary."

Castiel nodded, again having no idea what to say. His fury was still under control, but barely. "Sam and I grew up together, sir. We're practically brothers, too, as much as Dean is. Otherwise it would have ended very differently, I'm afraid."

"You are lucky," Washington mused.

Castiel took a moment to appreciate the absurdity of the remark, until he remembered he was indeed lucky. Lucky not to get caught by Singer, lucky that Sam understood his predicament, and lucky that Washington had been put in the position of apologizing to him. But, still...

"I’m sure I am, sir. Is that all?"

"No. First, mind your tone. Secondly, Mrs. Winchester is not to return to Philadelphia until we have resolved the issue with our alleged infiltrator. Do I need to provide a written order, or will she accept your explanation of the matter?"

Castiel desperately wanted to ask for a written order, but that would have made him appear uncertain of his own authority.

"No, sir. I’d better tell her immediately. May I dismiss, sir?"

”You may.”

Castiel stalked back to his tent and found Dean waiting inside, sitting on his bed. His rage piqued to new heights, and he was all but ready to fight anyone who was willing.

"For god's sake, Dean! Do you have any idea what I've just been through?"

Dean grinned and patted the bed. "Nope. Why don't you come and tell me all about it?"

"I can’t fucking believe you. Please go. And don't come into my tent again without my permission."

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Dean demanded.

Castiel threw down his notebook onto the table and pointed towards the tent flap.

"I won't tell you again. Go. We have to wait, and be patient. You're putting us both in danger."

Dean glared at him as he stood up. "So are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know what it means."

Castiel took three strides forward and embraced Dean for a split second, and then let him go again before he even realized what he was doing.

"Don't say that. Do you hear me? We are…we will be again soon, that is. Do you understand?" He lowered his voice. "Washington leaves camp in three days. Until then, I'm not going to risk being caught. You saw how Singer nearly-"

"Yes, I was there, remember?”

There was silence between them for several long moments.

"Three days, Dean. That's all."

"Fine," Dean shot back, a little bitterly. "Then three days is all I'm gonna give ya, angel.”

Dean turned to leave, taking his time, willing Castiel to stop him.

But Castiel just let him go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Three Days Later...**

Castiel was all but counting down the seconds until Washington left camp. Two hours until he could see Dean again. Not just see him, but….well, he blushed at his own dirty thoughts and forced himself to think of other things as he strutted towards the mansion to say farewell to his commander and provide an update on Ruby.

Washington was busy with Singer, so Castiel was asked to step out in the anteroom for almost an hour, where he drummed his fingers impatiently on his sword and paced until he got dizzy. By the time the door finally opened, he was sorely tempted to blurt something extremely rude in return for being kept waiting for so long. Not that he would ever do that, but if he had decided to, the look on Singer's face would have stopped him cold first. Bobby was very good at communicating with just his eyebrows, and right now they were clearly warning Castiel to halt his impending temper tantrum.

Washington looked up very briefly, barely making eye contact. "Something's come up, Novak, and I wish for you to travel with me to Philadelphia. Singer will deal with the Ruby matter. Be ready to go in one hour."

Castiel's mouth flopped open and closed like a fish. Washington went back to his writing, apparently having no intention of adding anything else to the subject. Neither did he have any idea of the veritable sword he had just plunged straight through Castiel’s heart. How was he going to tell Dean to wait any longer? Forget that, how could he possibly wait any longer, himself?

Singer cleared his throat and addressed Castiel. “You should give me your update on Ruby now, then.”

"In the other room." Washington said tersely, waving them away with his quill.

"He's in a mood," observed Singer dryly once the two young men had made their exit. "What's the update?"

Just what I needed, thought Castiel. Traveling with Washington when he's in a mood. He gave his update, which Singer listened to silently without question or comment. Afterwards, Castiel asked, "Why am I going to Philadelphia?"

"That will be all, major," prompted Singer stiffly as he turned to leave. A dismissal on top of an ignored question. Castiel didn’t like being treated so offhandedly by Singer or anyone else, and it weakened his normal sense of careful discretion.

"Apparently the mood is contagious, eh?" He said it in a joking tone, but it was a veiled criticism.

Singer stopped in his tracks and turned around, one eyebrow raised in dismay. "It's not my place to explain why you're going. I will say that Sam Winchester has nothing to do with it."

"I didn't think he-"

"You're dismissed, major."

Castiel sighed and headed straight for Dean's tent to break the bad news. He didn't find him there, and realized with combined sadness and relief that he must be on patrol. With shaking hands he went to Dean's little writing desk and left him a note:

Ten more days. - CN

____________

When Castiel returned twelve incredibly long and frustrating days later, soaked through from rain and ice, and burdened with a thousand new worries accumulated during the trip, he found a note on his own writing desk:

You're such a dick. - DW

Castiel threw the note into his footlocker and changed his sopping clothing as quickly as he could manage, then raced over to Dean's tent. A single dying candle was enough to see that he was asleep, a lanky, unruly lump under several brown blankets. Castiel shivered, the dry clothes not offering much in the way of warmth, and blew out the flame. Then he started slowly climbing into the cot alongside Dean.

"What the-"

"Hello, friend," Castiel murmured. "Shhhh."

"Jesus Christ, you're an icicle! You gotta warn a man before you go and-"

"Here’s your warning," Castiel responded, pressing a frozen hand on his neck. Dean yelped, and Castiel laughed as quietly as he could manage as Dean writhed around.

"For god's sake, if you grab me with your snowman hands again I swear I'm going to...to..."

"Going to do what, exactly?" Castiel now put both his hands on Dean's back, feeling delirious with mischief and glee and want. Dean nearly shouted out loud, then he started grumbling.

"Cas, swear to god, you’re one evil shit!”

"Let me in, Winchester," Castiel commanded with the authoritative tones he used on his cavalry troops. Dean rolled around and offered out the blankets, gasping as the cold figure slid in next to his warm body and settled down gently.

"Bloody hell. This is outright cruelty."

"I know."

"At least you got clothes on," Dean responded, and Castiel was happy to hear the unmistakable tone of amusement in his voice. "I'd hate to think how cold you are underneath all that."

"Do you want to find out?"

"No!"

They both laughed, and then Dean shifted all the way around to face him so that they could feel each other's breath. Castiel scooted up a little and rested his chin on the top of Dean's head, so that his wet hair wouldn't be dripping onto their faces. Then he wrapped his arm around Dean and held on tight…from desire, but also from the fact that he was in dire danger of rolling out of the little cot and onto the ground at any moment.

Castiel whispered, "What time are you due on patrol tonight?"

"I'm not. Just got back."

"Good. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

”It’s alright. You’re here now.”

Everything else they both wanted to say to each other drifted away unspoken into the darkness and cold. The apologies. The complaints. The arguments. Nothing mattered now that relief prevailed...then silence, as if by prior agreement. Nor did either of them move a muscle. Castiel imagined they must look like a painting, if anyone could see them. Which thankfully, they could not.

After about half an hour of this delightful contentment, Castiel's breathing had become deep and slow.

Dean squirmed to free one of his arms so that he could stroke the stubbled cheek of his sleepy friend.

"Cas," he whispered. "You can't stay here. Not that I don’t want you to. Washington’s orders.”

Castiel mumbled, "I know. Just a little while longer. I'm still cold."

"So am I, thanks to you."

“Sorry.” Castiel kissed him gently on the forehead, genuinely regretful that his earlier playfulness had been so mean-spirited.

They laid together for another few minutes, and then Castiel finally started to stir. "You're right. I don’t want to leave, but…”

Dean responded quietly. "I know. Go."

They kissed passionately, but briefly, and then Castiel untangled himself from the blankets and stood up stiffly, deeply regretting the loss of the contact he had waited so long to regain. He couldn’t see Dean at all, but he suspected he was looking at him with sadness and regret. The same thing was on his own face.

Against his better judgment Castiel asked, with some hesitation, "Will you join me in my tent? Just to sleep. I can't…I can't do anything else right now, and I don't want you to feel like I’m a bore, but I just want to sleep tonight. With you, I mean." He didn't know what to say, and was glad Dean couldn't see the flush that was rapidly creeping up his cheeks.

Dean almost said no, because he wanted Castiel to get some real rest, but then he realized the dazed major was already halfway asleep and close to falling down on his face. Nothing - and no one - could keep him awake at this point. Dean sat up in bed and reached for his coat.

"Of course. Nowhere else I'd rather be, angel."

"Me either. I love you, Dean."

"Me too, you frozen-fingered bastard."


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel had previously taken pride in the fact that he could be honest with himself, for better or for worse. He always knew when he was in over his head, for example, or when certain subjects simply fell outside of his ability to comprehend. Such as the moods of General Washington, or trying to understand the impertinent desires of Ruby, or the dangerous whims of Dean Winchester. Those were manageable challenges, for the most part. He was confident of his strong instincts that had so far guided him on when to give in, when to push back, when to take control.

Which was why he was so frustrated to find himself at a loss with the situation that he and Dean found themselves in. Every hour his feelings changed from one extreme to the next, where Dean's stayed the same. Every hour his fears increased, where Dean's decreased. Every hour he debated whether to break it off, where Dean only got closer and closer. Stronger. More suffocating. And yet, also more satisfying.

You wouldn’t know by looking at him that Castiel Novak, chief intelligence officer of the Continental Army, was increasingly distracted and tormented by his own thoughts and desires that now consumed him nearly every moment of every day. His face stayed set in a careful mask of concentration and calm, though his mind was elsewhere. And that was a problem.

He had been dining with General Washington, General Shurley, and Colonel Singer when all the distractions of his secret life first reared their ugly head. The thoughts that would not go away were now pushing him into new territory. Having no clue what he was eating or drinking, he nodded along to the conversation and inserted hmmms and aahhhhs where it seemed appropriate. In truth though, he could not have repeated a single sentence - hell, even a few words of the conversation - if he had been paid to do so.

Then someone asked him a question. He only knew this because there was sudden, deathly silence at the table. As if someone was waiting for an answer. Castiel looked around to see who the subject of this question was, and found three pairs of eyes on him. He wiped his mouth carefully and placed his napkin on the table. He did not know who to look at first, so he focused on Singer, who seemed least likely to care that he hadn't heard the question.

"My apologies, I…think someone just addressed me, but I did not hear it."

There seemed to be nothing amiss in anyone's expressions, so perhaps there was hope of getting out of this unscathed. Washington casually took another bite of his stew, and Shurley took a large gulp of his wine, so Singer took the cue and spoke up, very politely and with a curious expression.

"General Shurley asked if you could share your professional opinion on the intelligence that he has gained from General Ketch, since you know more about that situation than any of us."

Castiel fought down his rising anxiety and willed himself not to grab his own glass of wine and take a huge swig. Instead, he took a quick, delicate sip of water as he turned his attention to the scowling Shurley.

"I don't think I've had the opportunity to hear about it yet, sir. Would you kindly educate me on what you have learned?"

Shurley didn't say anything for an uncomfortably long time so, Castiel shifted his glance to Singer, who was shaking his head very slightly with an expression of "now you've done it" that reminded Castiel of his older brothers admonishing him for misbehaving in church.

Washington cleared his throat, but Castiel was too afraid to look at him. He knew he was in deep trouble.

"Are you not feeling well, major?"

"I'm well, sir, thank you," replied Castiel steadily, feeling anything but well.

Washington set down his spoon with an unnecessarily firm thunk. "I am just concerned, you see, because General Shurley has just finished explaining at length to the table what he has learned from General Ketch. Did you not hear any of it?"

"My apologies, sir, I….should have just admitted that I am not well, rather than…than…"

"Wasting our time, yes," interjected Washington. "You should leave the table and go get some rest."

Castiel stood up immediately, an enormous flush taking over his entire face. He hadn't been sent away from a dinner table mid-meal since he was an errant young child. "Thank you, sir. Goodnight, gentlemen."

"Report back here in one hour, if you are able, to give me an update on how you are feeling."

Washington's tone was of gentle concern, but he was staring at him like a man ready to murder someone on the spot. And that someone was Castiel, who bowed slightly and departed as rapidly as he could while still maintaining the shreds of whatever was left of his dignity.

He went straight to Dean's tent, all alarms sounding in his brain at the highest possible frequency and volume. He was certain he had just killed his career for good…and if not that extreme, his reputation with the three officers at that table was most certainly finished.

Dean was not there, and Castiel knew he wasn't on patrol. He waited thirty extremely long minutes in his tent, then barged outside again, and was in a full-fledged panic by the time he spotted Dean in the woods nearby, coming back from some duty or another.

"Dean!" he barked, sounding like a shrieking washerwoman to his own ears.

"What's wrong, sir?" asked Dean, trotting over in a state of perfect concern and urgency. As he got closer he hissed, "What's happened? You alright?"

"No! I'm…everything is…we're done. Well, I'm done, anyway."

"What?"

Castiel took several deep breaths. "I can't do this anymore, Dean. I can't, I'm…it's unraveling me. I just can't. I want to, but…no, I don't."

"Calm down, Cas, lower your voice," Dean warned, looking around them carefully to discern if there were any eavesdroppers in the dark. "You've gotten spooked again. What's happened?"

“Where have you been?”

“One of our sentries fell asleep on duty. I’ve dealt with him. What’s wrong?”

"Not here. My tent. Come on."

They went to Castiel's tent, where Dean heard the panicked but not entirely complete explanation of what had just occurred at dinner.

"What does this have to do with me?" he asked after a few moments of waiting for more of the story, but in vain. "I don't understand what's gotten you so riled up."

Castiel sat on his bed, then leaped back up again as if it was on fire.

"I wasn't listening to them because I was too busy listening to my own thoughts. Of you, of me, of us…of all of it. You're going to be the end of me, one way or another."

"Gee, thanks," Dean snorted with a frown. "I love you, too."

Castiel stopped abruptly, realizing what he had just said. "No, I-"

"I get it."

"No, Dean. I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming me. This is my fault. I should have never tried to be something I'm not."

Dean frowned and sat on the bed. "Something you're not? What does that mean? And don't tell me you don't love me, because you do. And you know it."

Castiel turned around to face him, his expression tortured. "I know. And I do. But I can't...I just can’t do this anymore. I’m so sorry, Dean. This is...this is over.”

They stared at each other for a while, breathing hard, in totally different frames of mind while still desiring each other more than ever before.

"I need to go," Castiel finally said, in defeat. He turned to leave, but Dean called him back.

"Cas?”

"What?"

Dean stood up and walked over to him calmly. "This is _your_ tent, remember? So I’m the one who needs to leave. You really are in a state, angel. You gonna be okay?"

Castiel shrugged. "I don't know. I have to see Washington again in twenty minutes. Presumably to explain myself, which…most likely will not end well."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Like I said, I'm not feeling well. Which I'm not. I'm not myself, at all. Not since…you know."

Now it was Dean's turn to shrug. "Yeah, I know. And you think us being apart is going to be any easier than us being together?"

"Yes! Because I won't be constantly afraid of being found out. I can't sleep, Dean. I can't think. I can't do anything as long as that fear is hanging over my head, day and night. It's real. We could be hanged. At any moment. For one single slip-up. Do you understand?"

Dean did understand. And he was afraid, too. 

"Yes. But I reject your so-called solution. If you want to break up with me, you'll have to do better than that."

"Dean, I'm sorry. I...someone's coming," he whispered, and stepped aside to assume a perfect expression for any normal occasion. Dean straightened up and snatched a letter off the desk and acted like he was studying it as the visitor rapped on the wooden pole outside the tent flaps.

"Come in."

It was Ruby. Dean and Castiel breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Castiel," she began, in that commanding tone she tended to take when she was about to say something that she expected would not be a welcome thing to hear.

"Yes, Ruby?" Castiel queried calmly.

She looked back and forth between to the two of them. "I was hoping to hear about your trip to Philadelphia. But…I can see this is not a good time."

"It's really not," said Dean politely.

"I see. And do you think you'll ever find time to inform me how I'm to be protected now that my name is on the lips of the enemy? And when you'll find someone to escort me to Philadelphia? I’ve been waiting to leave for a week. Or shall I just fend for myself?"

Castiel jolted to a start at that. He had forgotten to keep her updated on her own security, and in fact had also totally forgotten she was even still in camp and that it was his duty to see her back to safely to Sam. These were just more things he had neglected due to his preoccupation with other pursuits.

Dean answered for him. "We were just discussing one of those two things. I am volunteering to take you down to Philadelphia. Castiel? What say you?"

“Yes, ahem, I’ll have to ask Washington. And I will. I'm due to see him in just a few minutes. There's no reason to say no."

"Good," replied Ruby. "I want to leave tomorrow. Getting sick of this camp.”

“I know the feeling,” Dean sympathized.

One of Washington's Life Guards now appeared at the tent and informed the group that the General was ready to see Castiel, who nodded in acknowledgement as he put the letter down on the desk and tightened his sword belt to the next notch. He really needed to stop losing so much weight lately.

"Meet in my tent tomorrow after breakfast, both of you. Goodnight." He nodded at them in dismissal, and they turned to go out. Dean turned around to lock eyes with Castiel, who nodded just very slightly, apparently quite relieved that Dean had quickly thought to volunteer for the trip to Philadelphia. That would postpone any further discussion they needed to have about their relationship, not to mention give Castiel some breathing room in order to collect himself and get back in Washington's good graces again.

Castiel sighed inwardly, collected his racing thoughts, and followed the guard to Washington's headquarters.

When they arrived, it was eerily quiet and dark. Apparently dinner had ended much earlier than expected, for he didn't have to wait at all for Washington to see him. He walked into the office and found his General replacing a candle that had burned down to a nub.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked in the most normal tone he could manage.

"I do," Washington answered, keeping his back to him as he struggled with the sconce. It was all Castiel could do not to jump up and offer to take over the candle duties for him.

Castiel decided to not wait for a lecture. "I wish to apologize for-"

"I will start the conversation when I’m ready, if you please," Washington interrupted, firmly but not unkindly.

"Yes, sir."

Castiel stood and waited, heart pounding, until Washington had lit the flame. Once that was successful, he turned around and sat down without any further dramatics. Then he handed Castiel a letter.

"This is Ketch's report of the affair that was mentioned at dinner. Don't read it right now. Just tell me why you were not listening to General Shurley’s account of it, and why you saw fit to embarrass yourself at my table."

Castiel flinched at his tone before he could manage to stop himself. Damn it. He hated when he did that.

"I was unwell, sir, with respect," Castiel replied shakily. "Just as I had mentioned."

"You seemed fine up until that point. What was wrong?"

"Perhaps a stomach flu of some kind, sir. I haven't been eating as much as I should, as you can see, sir," he said, indicating the new notch on his sword belt. That part was at least true, if nothing else was. "And I was quite dizzy for some time during the main course. I would be grateful if you would please accept my deepest apologies for being inattentive to General Shurley."

Washington seemed almost convinced, but Castiel didn't wish to press his luck any further. He added smoothly, "I’ve felt much improvement lately. No doubt I'll be well again soon enough."

"And you didn’t think to tell me about this?," Washington asked icily. "The health of my senior officers is of utmost importance to me, and to the success of our cause. See the doctor first thing in the morning. That's an order. And do not keep such things from me again."

"Yes, sir. My apologies."

"I want your opinion on that letter tomorrow morning as well, after you have completed that visit. You may dismiss," he said, standing up.

"Sir, may I ask you a question that is unrelated to this issue?"

"Yes?"

"May I send Lieutenant Winchester down to Philadelphia with Mrs. Ruby? We had promised we would escort her back once her work was completed."

"Don't you need him here?"

Yes. "No, sir. Not for the time being. I can spare him for those ten days."

"Any longer? A few weeks?"

Castiel hesitated. "Yes, sir, of course. But I'm not sure what he would be doing-"

Washington smiled a little. "Rochambeau is due back to Philadelphia in about two weeks, perhaps three, and I need someone trustworthy there to race back to me with his reply to one of my letters. Winchester will suit perfectly. Send him down with a small escort for Mrs. Ruby, but should come back alone, as fast as he can manage. This is excellent timing, thank you, major. Please inform him he is to stay there until they make contact, no matter how long it takes. This is of the utmost importance."

Castiel swallowed hard for what seemed like the hundredth time this month. His heart began to ache. He didn't want to be away from Dean for that long, no matter how much he needed him to be.

"Yes, sir. I'll inform him he can leave when Mrs. Ruby is ready."

"I expect them to depart tomorrow at noon. There is no need to wait longer than that. Thank you."

Castiel turned around and left the house, regretting everything he’d ever done in life. First he pushed Dean away on his own accord, now he was pushing him further away due to something that was out of control. And that was the exact opposite of what he really wanted. He wanted him in his bed. Now. Forever. And yet...that’s not what he wanted at all. He just wanted to go back to where he was before the war. Before he knew what love was like.

He hated Dean for being Dean.

He hated Washington for being Washington.

He hated everything.

Most of all, he hated himself for being a coward.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel cleared his throat again, hating that he sounded so formal rather than friendly. But he was giving orders to Dean, that was the way it had to be. “So you're to stay there and wait for Rochambeau to arrive, then relay his message back here as fast as you can manage."

"When's he gonna arrive?" asked Dean as he took another bite of bread.

"Washington says anywhere from next week to three weeks. Hopefully not much longer." He reached into his coat. "He wrote a letter for Sam to ask him if you may be allowed to stay with him and Ruby."

Dean laughed aloud. "I don't need a letter from Washington for that! We’re literally family, Cas."

Ruby was also amused by the seriousness of Castiel's statement. "Really, Castiel? Four extra bedrooms, and you think we'd trust Dean to the local boarding houses? The world would have twenty little Deans running around ten months from now."

"Ah, who's to say that still won't be the case, though? Unless you lock me in my room."

They both laughed and Castiel felt himself starting to lighten up a little, against his will. He loved Dean’s spirit and sass - as long as it was appropriate for the occasion, which it often wasn’t - and his sternness melted away suddenly. "I suppose you're right, but Washington likes to do things properly. So please give Sam this letter anyway."

"I will. He could use the laugh." Dean took it and put it in one of his many pockets.

Ruby sighed. "Well, I'm ready to go. Thank you, Castiel. I'll see you when you're next in town, yes?"

All three of them stood up, and Castiel gave Ruby a tender hug. He had grown extremely fond of her over the past year - although he wasn’t a fan of _her_ style of sass, admittedly - and felt terribly guilty for putting her in danger a dozen times over. He also knew full well that Sam would kill him if anything happened to her under his watch. For that reason, it was also a huge relief to see her go.

"Be safe, you two," Castiel ordered authoritatively. "Ruby, make sure Dean keeps in line. I don't want to receive a report about a Continental officer being banished from Philadelphia for rowdy behavior."

"I will do my very best. Pray for me. Dean, shall we?"

Dean looked at Castiel, then back to Ruby. "Give us just a minute, yeah? I'll be right there."

"Goodbye, Castiel," said Ruby as she nodded and left the tent. Castiel was extremely relieved that she gave no indication whatsoever of being aware of what was going on between her two friends.

In the sudden silence, Castiel could feel his pulse rushing in his ears. Dean stood just a few feet away, looking at him quizzically. Neither of them seemed to know what to say, and there was an awkward silence for a long moment.

Dean spoke up first. "So, uh…what you said last night. Did you mean it?"

"Which part of it?"

"Well, either the part where you said you loved me, or the one where you said you didn't. They can’t both be true."

"Stop it, Dean. I do love you, and you know it. But can we just talk about this when you get back? I need time to think, and I don't want to fight right now."

Dean grinned without humor. "I wasn't looking for a fight, angel."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."

"I just want to know where we stand, is all. Surely you can tell me that much. Well?"

Castiel cleared his throat and fiddled with his sword, buying himself time to allow the thousand emotions to wash over him at once. From Dean's point of view, he was a serious and steady as a boulder. However, he offered no response at all and just stared back defiantly after a few moments.

"Cas?"

"I don't know," Castiel finally, with a casual shrug that disguised how heavily those three terrible words were affecting him. "I can't give you an answer right now."

Dean nodded, his expression grim but determined. "I think you just did. Alright. I’m off. See you around."

"Wait, Dean…"

"What?"

Castiel strode to his desk and picked up Dean's cavalry helmet. The dark green felt one that made his eyes stand out like emeralds in the sky. Whenever Dean wore it - especially when he was on horseback in his magnificent dragoon uniform - it was genuinely impossible for Cas to concentrate on anything else but his stunning looks.

"You almost forgot this. Here."

Castiel handed it over, and their fingers brushed each other unintentionally. He felt a spark of electricity race through his hand and straight into his heart, rendering him pleasantly breathless. They stopped and looked at each other again in confusion; apparently Dean had the same marvelous reaction.

“Cas...are you going to give it to me, or…”

“Give you…? Oh, yes. Sorry.” He sheepishly released the helmet. "Dean, I…"

"Yes?"

Dean tucked the helmet under his arm and adjusted his sword belt while Castiel took a deep breath. "We’ll figure this out when you get back. I promise. The only thing I know right now is that I love you, and….nothing else matters.”

"Well, there are a few other things that matter. You know, the whole war and all that. But I’m glad to hear it, all the same." He winked, and Castiel’s knees weakened a little. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” Cas walked up to Dean and impulsively pulled him into a deep kiss, brief but incredibly satisfying.

“Wow,” breathed Dean afterwards. “See you in a few weeks for some more of that, I hope?”

“Can’t wait. Stay safe,” Castiel urged, his heart dropping to the ground as Dean turned and left the tent.

\-------

That evening brought torrents of rain down on Dean’s little temporary encampment for many hours. Thunder and wind woke everyone up on several occasions throughout the night, and made the horses restless. An hour before sunrise it finally calmed, and there wasn’t a single person awake except for the two sentries….and Dean. He was never able to fall asleep to begin with, so the thunder wasn’t a problem. It was his busy mind that betrayed him all night with its generous and relentless offering of regrets and doubts upon which he could ponder in private.

They had only traveled 9 miles on the first day due to his own horse throwing a shoe twice, and having to stop several times to clear the road from fallen trees so the contingent could pass through. That twelve long hours on horseback gave him entirely too much time to think. He hated having to leave Castiel for this extended duty in Philadelphia, and was not at all flattered by the fact that he had been personally chosen by Washington for it. He had done right by not complaining, and even acting eager...but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Cas had actually been the one to send him away. There had been just the slightest spark of victory in the man’s eyes when he congratulated Dean on being selected. It was odd. Totally out of character, even.

And so his feelings for Cas, which were entirely irrefutable as of yesterday’s kiss - which admittedly still made his breeches swell every time he thought of it - were now thrown into a plague of confusion and doubt. The strange melancholy plaguing him since that unsettling conversation had kept him up all night, laying on his back with his eyes wide open in the pitch black, although he so desperately needed rest for the next day’s arduous journey.

And thus, by the time the first rays of sun illuminated the very tops of the tallest trees, he was gravely afflicted by new shades of desire, shame, and regret. The metaphorical bridge that he had built in order to keep him and Cas connected on opposite sides of a dangerous river was starting to crumble from both sides, and he hadn’t the slightest clue how to fix it.

Even worse, he wasn’t sure whether to trust himself the next time he had to speak to Cas. Would he admit he sent him away? Could Dean stop himself from asking that very question? If the answer was what he feared, could he ever be able to act as if nothing had happened? Or would he...no.

He was being ridiculous, he told himself. Four more days until Philadelphia, and then just over 20 days until a return to camp. Maybe not even that long. He could survive this. He had to trust Cas. He always had, without regret.

“Top o’ the morning, sir,” Ensign Kline remarked with a smirk as Dean emerged stiffly from his little sleeping tent. “I was wondering if you were still alive in there. Breakfast is ready.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin at his disheveled officer. “You look terrible. Didn’t sleep either, eh?”

“Slept like a baby, but I didn’t have the luxury of a real tent, lieutenant. I dare say you’re looking worse than me, though. Come and eat.”

Dean didn’t notice what kind of breakfast was given to him, nor did he care. He automatically answered Jack’s small talk, but the kid fell silent fairly quickly and left his superior in peace. Not peace, really; he was poking at his food and scowling deeply. Eventually Jack couldn’t maintain his silence anymore.

“You need to eat, sir,” murmured Jack quietly, so none of the enlisted men could hear. “Going to be a long day.”

 _Pause_. “Yes, it is.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

Dean turned to look at Jack for the first time since they’d sat down on the log together. His youthful expression was one of genuine concern and deep worry, so Dean smiled a little to break the tension.

“Guess my stomach isn’t awake yet. We need to get moving. I’ll take this food along with me. Get the men back on their horses. I’ll see to Ruby.”

“I’ll take care of everything, sir. Please, just sit and eat. You haven’t had a single bite.”

”Yes, mother.”

Jack finally got up at that, and when wasn’t looking Dean leaned way back and poured the bowl of stew out behind a tree. When he got back up on his horse twenty minutes later, all thoughts of any treachery from Castiel had suddenly vanished, and he smiled and warmed a little in anticipation of those strong, beautiful hands warming him all over again in just a few weeks.

\---------

**** 6 months later ****

**Washington’s Headquarters**

"…and in five days' time, we shall decamp and leave for Yorktown to rendezvous with Lafayette and Shurley and the others. All of their troops are already on the way, which means we'll be among the last to join. Major Novak, you're the exception. Your troops will leave tomorrow evening, stop in Philadelphia briefly to join Rochambeau, and march down with him to begin preparations for the siege in advance of my arrival."

Castiel's heart leaped into his throat instantly. Rochambeau. He was going to join Rochambeau. Which meant…

_Dean, I’m coming. Just four more days._

"Major?" Washington prompted after Castiel had not offered any acknowledgement of the order.

Castiel wrenched his mind back to the present company. "Yes, sir, sorry. I was thinking…with all the storms we’ve had, it's highly likely some of the roads are impassable, due to fallen trees and such. Perhaps I should leave right now, in daylight, with a large troop of pioneers to clear the way for all of us?"

"Of course. Good thinking. Colonel Singer, will you kindly see to it? Have them ready to go in one hour. I would like to speak with the major for a moment. Gentlemen, if you would kindly…"

The room emptied out, leaving Castiel to face Washington alone. But that was no longer a source of anxiety; in fact, both of them were still infinitely grateful to have mended fences so many months ago, and regained the trust they had once lost. Castiel knew this could mostly be credited to Dean's long absence and the subsequent lack of the distractions that had kept getting him in trouble with the commander-in-chief time and again.

It had been six months since the day they parted, when Ruby started the journey to return to Philadelphia. Dean and Castiel had traded regular letters since, almost every word formal, in code, and dedicated only to intelligence activities. They would never risk exposing their secret in writing.

But one early letter contained a deeply personal question: _Why was I really transferred to Rochambeau?_ asked Dean.

Castiel’s response, in code: _I assure you it was not my doing. Washington chose you personally, against my wishes. He trusts you alone to be his eyes in Philadelphia. I only hope it will not be for too long._

It was a lie, a warped tale of the real conversation that had actually taken place that fateful day:

_Lieutenant Winchester is already in Philadelphia, General. He's ideal for this duty, and can start right away._

_You need him here, major._

_We need him there more, sir. There is no one else we can trust more than him. I have other officers I can rely upon in the meantime to take over his duties._

_Very well, if you're certain you can be without his services that long. Relay the new assignment detail to him as soon as possible, before he leaves the city._

_It would be better if the orders came directly from you, sir, and if you could kindly not mention it was my idea that would be very much appreciated._

Washington had looked askance at him, but he didn't ask questions or argue. He simply sat down and wrote the order in his own hand, and Castiel sent it off via courier the same day. It had been that easy to get Dean out of the way.

Except that Castiel had thought the transfer would last two months, perhaps. Not six. If he had known that, he wouldn't have done it. He certainly couldn’t undo it, and had to resign himself to bearing it out as stoically as possible.

"Major, you seem to be quite preoccupied. Is all well?"

Castiel looked up at Washington and nodded. _Damn it, pay attention, Cas..._ "Yes, sir. Just thinking about Yorktown. A victory there could mean the end of the war if all of our intelligence is accurate."

Washington smiled grimly. "I wouldn't make any bets on that outcome. It's very likely we will fight for years to come. After all, there is more to the British Army than Cornwallis. We still have all of the north to think about. And South Carolina, and…"

"You're right, of course, sir. I suppose I'm just feeling cautiously optimistic for once."

Washington sat down. "I've been working on some transfer orders prior to my departure. They include having Dean Winchester returned to your regiment. I don't think we need him anymore with Rochambeau, now that we've decided to move on Yorktown. In addition, I wish to promote him to Captain. The services he has rendered us in the past year more than merits it, do you agree?"

Castiel was instantly delighted at this news, and Washington was delighted in turn to see his melancholy major finally happy about something. It had been a very long time since Castiel had not been mired in a perpetual state of gloom and doom, although the general was careful to never remark upon it for fear of making it worse.

"Thank you, sir! Yes, he deserves it. Very much so."

Washington smiled. "You can tell him yourself then, when you see him in a few days. Come back here before you leave so I can give you the letter."

"Then I'd better hurry, sir, if we're leaving in an hour."

"Go ahead."

Castiel did not actually need an hour to get ready. He had of course known about the move to Yorktown for some time, and his tent and chests were already prepared. He took a few minutes to gather up his writing implements and a few stray pieces of clothing. Then he laid down on his bed and daydreamed about what he would say to Dean when they finally saw each other again.

For a short time, he was overjoyed at the thought of their happy reunion.

Until he remembered that it might not be happy. They had been apart six months, after all. Perhaps Dean had found someone else. Perhaps he no longer loved Castiel. Perhaps he had figured out it was Cas's idea to have him transferred, and he hated him for it. No, that wouldn’t be the case, because he would have given some indication in his letters. Wouldn’t he..?

A hundred possibilities swirled in Castiel's mind, each more dire than the last, until the optimism was ultimately gone. By the time he mounted his horse and rode off with his cavalry troops in front and the axe-wielding pioneers close behind, he was dreading seeing Dean again...because he had to tell him the truth.


	8. Chapter 8

**Philadelphia - a few days later**

Castiel climbed the long staircase to Sam's townhouse and steeled himself for whatever was about to happen between himself and Dean. The long trip to Philadelphia had given him enough time to think of a variety of rational, reasonable responses to any number of reactions he might receive. He was prepared for anything. He thought.

Except that he wasn't prepared for the door to open by itself before he had the chance to gain all the courage he needed to knock. Of course they would have seen him arrive, he remembered, even if he was almost an hour early. But it still threw him off, nonetheless.

He had to will himself not to search for Dean but to focus on Ruby, who now stood in the doorway, smiling shyly.

"Castiel!"

She stepped out and opened the door all the way for him. Castiel felt his heart thump sickeningly as he climbed the last few stairs.

"Ruby, you look wonderful. Philadelphia suits you."

"Thank you. I’m glad to see you finally gained back the weight you needed. But not too much. Just right!" She patted his stomach.

Castiel groaned a little. "Thanks. I think. I'm sorry for being so early. But I received a note that I need to be elsewhere at noon, and-"

She pulled him inside. "That's alright. We're all here. Come in."

Castiel stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the drastic difference in light. Dean and Sam were standing by a lit fireplace, looking dapper as ever with drinks in hand, and quickly moved to greet him. Sam embraced him first, and then Dean, who was grinning ear to ear and nearly squeezed the breath out of him in a bear hug.

Thank god Dean was happy to see him, Castiel noted with an unmistakable burst of joy in his chest. It was all he had hoped for, to start with.

Castiel caught his breath, then turned his attention to Sam in order to tamp down his keen emotions. "I apologize for being so early," he repeated. "I have to be at the state house at noon, and I didn't have time to get word to you."

"That's alright. But Ruby and I are due at a garden party now at the Shippen house and must be on our way. I'm glad we didn't miss you. Will you have dinner with us tonight?"

"Thank you, I'd like that very much. I'll need to get permission from Rochambeau, but I can't imagine he would say no."

Sam was still beaming. "We'll see you then, I hope. You and Dean must have a lot to catch up on. How long has it been?"

"Six months," the two friends answered together. _And four days and 17 hours_ , added Castiel to himself.

They left in a flurry of another round of greetings, and then the house was quiet. Castiel looked at Dean, felt his heart flutter a little, and then walked over to window to watch the Winchesters leave for lunch, walking arm in arm and smiling wide. Apparently their marital problems were over; they looked so happy together that it made Castiel's heart glow with affection.

Once they were finally out of sight, he turned back to Dean, who was near the fireplace again and pouring a drink for him in a beautiful crystal sniffer for which Sam had obviously spared no expense. Castiel took it gratefully, and in his anxiety he downed half of it in one gulp. It was unexpectedly potent. The burn in his throat made him gag a little, and his eyes began to water profusely

"Don't cry, Cas," Dean teased. "I know you're happy to see me, but that's a bit much."

Castiel looked at the glass in wonder as he was recovering from the shock. "Thought it was brandy. What on earth is this?"

"Some kind of French liqueur. I was just about to tell you to go slow, but you beat me to it."

"It's awful!"

"Nah, it's actually great. Try it again. Go slow."

Castiel carefully took a very small sip, which was slightly more palatable. "Actually…it's not that bad, in small doses. I assume Sam received it from le Marquis?"

"I did, actually. Been kind of fun running around with the big boys and enjoying their expensive taste in gifts. You should have tried the bottle I received from Rochambeau. It's gone now, of course."

Castiel took another sip, and then another. "I like this. Can I have some more?"

Dean laughed as he opened the bottle again and refilled Castiel's glass, which was barely big enough to hold in his hand. They sat down in front of the fire and drank together, discreetly watching each other over the rims of their tiny glasses and judging how to proceed.

"So," began Castiel, as he enjoyed the flow of warmth through his body - both from the drink, and the fire. And the happiness of being near Dean again. "This is quite the house. I knew Sam had found wealth, but...he doesn’t spare any expense, does he?”

“He even has servants,” Dean said with a grin. “Lots of them. They cook for us three times a day!”

Cas nodded approvingly, and then looked at his glass of liquor again. It had a slight green tint to it. Interesting.

“So you've been enjoying your time with the French, huh?"

"Oh yeah. The Frenchies know how to live, Cas. We should all learn from their example and alter our lives accordingly. For example, just last week, I went with them to this tavern not even a hundred yards away. Maybe fifty. We had such a good time that I got lost on my way back. Fifty yards practically crawling the whole time, can you imagine? Not being able to find this big old house? Took me three days to recover. That wasn’t even the first time. And the cheese, oh my god-”

"I have a confession to make, Dean," Castiel blurted out suddenly. His joy was suddenly gone, replaced by dread and guilt. He set his glass down carefully and stared into the fire. The necessity of having this discussion was a decision he made on the journey to Philadelphia, and he wasn't going to shy away from it. No matter what.

Dean took a deep breath. "Uh-oh. Finally got yourself a girl, huh?"

Castiel gulped, suddenly breaking into a sweat. "No. Please be serious for a change. There’s something I have to tell you first thing, in order to…so that you know, and you can act accordingly. And if you don't want to speak to me after I tell you, just know that I'll understand and I take complete responsibility for whatever happens. Or has happened. And I also want you to know that I'm extremely sorry for it. More than I can ever express."

There was a long silence. Dean waited as long as he could stand it, then prompted impatiently, "So…are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess at it?"

Castiel took a deep breath. "Of course I’d rather not tell you at all and just move on, but I just...there can’t be any secrets between us if we’re going to keep going down this path. So here it is. A long time ago you sent me a letter asking me the reason behind your transfer to Rochambeau.”

“I remember. That was Washington’s doing, Cas, please don’t blame yourself.”

Cas closed his eyes briefly and inhaled sharply. “I...didn’t answer that letter truthfully."

"Ah. So...you’re going to set the record straight now.”

"Yes.”

There was a long silence, then Dean’s tense request. "Do you mind looking me in the eyes while you’re breaking my heart? It’s the least you can do.”

Castiel said a quick prayer, and tore his eyes away from the fire to settle them on Dean.

"When Washington told me he wanted someone stationed here with Rochambeau...Dean, you were too much of a distraction to me, and I couldn't do my job! I needed you to _not_ be there. And I was scared. For both of us. Not that I told him that, of course.”

"So you just-" Dean started to interrupt with a sigh.

"Had I known, however, that it would last six months, I would have never insisted it be you.” Castiel’s voice was trembling. “He wanted you to stay with us, but I told him him...I told him we didn’t really need you. Which was also not true. I'm so sorry, Dean. For not being truthful in my letter back to you, and for keeping us apart when all I wanted was for us to be together. And I still do. Being away from you for so long has...been extraordinarily difficult, and made me realize how much I need you at my side, always. I am so deeply sorry.”

Dean took a long look into the fire, taking this in over the next minute or so. Castiel could not tell if he had already figured this all out or not, but by his dark stare it appeared he was truly surprised and dismayed by the confession.

"You had about five months to come clean about it,” he finally said quietly. “Why tell me now?"

Castiel took another drink. He was feeling flush already. "Because I'm a coward, Dean. And I'm sorry for that, too. I will accept whatever you have to say about me because of it."

Dean stood up and paced the room for a while. He stopped near the doorway and leaned against the frame, expression hard.

"Are you really ready to accept what I have to say, Cas? Because it ain't gonna be pretty."

Castiel nodded, turning his attention back to the fire. He was absolutely miserable, beyond everything he'd ever felt before. "Yes. Go ahead.”

Dean walked back over and gently plucked Castiel's glass out of his hand.

"What I have to say is this: you need to leave the house now, and don't come by for dinner tonight. You can easily come up with another lie to tell Sam, I'm sure. Oh, and one more thing: don’t ever speak to me again."

"But, I…"

"Door's down the hall, to your right." He pointed with the finger that was holding the glass, then turned away.

Castiel stood up so fast that it made him slightly dizzy. This was completely unexpected, despite all his careful preparations for possible scenarios in reaction to his news. Nor did he quite believe it.

"Are you serious?" he croaked.

"Completely serious." Dean's tone unmistakably backed up his words. He would never joke about a thing like this, in any case. Castiel felt like he had just jumped off an extremely tall cliff. His head was unusually light, and it took him a few long moments to compose himself.

“Alright. If that's what you want, then..." He remembered the letter in his pocket suddenly, and a business-like calm came over him like a comforting cloak. He reached in and pulled it out.

"Before I go, though, this is a letter to you from General Washington. You've been promoted to captain. Congratulations."

Dean did not reach out for the proffered letter. "Thanks. Like I said, door's down the hall."

"Also," Castiel added as he laid the letter on the chair he’d been sitting on, desperately trying to stall for time, "You've been transferred back to my command as of today. I will see if I can get that reversed, should you wish. Is that...is that what you want?””

"What do you think?"

“Right.” Castiel did not want to leave. There was so much he wanted to say. "Consider it done, but it will take time. In the meantime if you could just be patient and try to….behave normally, and respectfully as any of my officers do, I would appreciate it very much."

"I will, major."

Major. Castiel felt like sobbing at that, but he held it together. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I don't know how to make this right-”

"Need me to show you where the door is again?" Dean asked tersely. He was done talking.

“No. Thank you.” Castiel said nothing more as he let himself out into the warm autumn sunshine, making sure the slam the door behind him as hard as he could manage. Then he walked slowly to the state house, feeling overwhelmingly suffocated and imprisoned by his newfound freedom.


	9. Chapter 9

Experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu, coupled with grim determination, Castiel climbed the steps again to Sam's house as the sun dipped under the horizon. This time, however, he wasn't there for a happy reunion. This was the dinner Dean had told him not to join. He had chosen to disregard that request and come anyway. After all, he may never see Sam and Ruby again after Yorktown. This was no longer about him and Dean.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself...even as he knew it was _all about_ Dean.

The dining room table was set for four, which was quite puzzling. Either Dean didn't know he was coming, or someone else was joining...or he knew Castiel was coming and had agreed to join anyway - which he found the least likely scenario, although it did bring him hope.

Briefly, anyway. A servant suddenly came and took away the fourth place setting shortly after they were seated. Castiel looked quizzically at Sam.

"Is Dean not joining us?" he asked, keeping a casual tone.

They looked at each other questioningly, then back to Castiel. Ruby responded, "No, he heard you were coming and…what's come between the two of you?"

Damn it. Castiel picked up his glass of water and took a long drink, scrambling for the right words to put forth. There were none to find, so he asked bluntly, "Where is he?"

At the same time, Ruby said "I don’t know" while Sam replied "upstairs." They looked at each other, embarrassed. Castiel flushed hotly.

"I see. Which room is he in? I need to give him his orders for tomorrow."

Ruby put a hand on his arm. "He doesn't want to-"

Castiel shook off her hand and stood up. He was rapidly growing furiously impatient with the situation in general, and it was all too easy to take it out on his best friends.

"So if you already know what's going on, why are you asking me?"

"We don't know what’s going on," they said together, still baffled and somewhat embarrassed.

Castiel closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, pulling a piece of folded paper out of his coat. It was just a bill of sale from a clothier, but they didn't need to know that.

"I’m obliged to give him these orders from Washington as soon as possible. Please let me know which room he’s in. I’ll be gone for only a moment.”

Ruby sighed. "The last one at the end of the hall, on the left. I do wish you would wait until after dinner."

"It will only take a moment," Castiel repeated as he stood up. “Sam, may I speak to you in private, please?”

Once they were in the semi-privacy of the hall, Castiel lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Did you tell Ruby about...?” He didn’t need to add _me and Dean_. Nor would he ever say such a thing out loud, in any case.

Sam looked genuinely offended. ”No, of course not! What do you take me for, Cas?“

“Sorry. I had to ask. What room is he in again?”

“Wait. What the hell’s going on?”

Castiel hesitated; there was a crack in his voice. “I upset your brother.”

“You think?” Sam replied sarcastically.

“I’m going to apologize to him, and then give him some orders.”

“For what, a few pairs of breeches? Is Washington ordering him to be a tailor now?”

Castiel sheepishly looked down at the bill in his hand; the logo and name of the textiles merchant was clearly showing through the opposite side of the paper. Sam shook his head a little, but it wasn’t clear whether he was disappointed in Castiel or just frustrated at the situation overall.

“Don’t lie to me again, please. Last one on the left. He’s been in a mood, so...good luck.”

“Thank you. Sorry.” Castiel clapped Sam on the shoulder, then bounded up the stairs. He fully expected no answer to come from his knock on the door, and was surprised when it jerked open almost immediately. Dean seemed to be almost waiting for him.

"Do you have a moment?" Castiel asked, exceedingly polite despite his desire to be rude and demanding in order to vent his frustration further. "I have orders to relay to you, that's all. And then I'll go."

"Yes, sir?"

Castiel fought down his irritation, mostly unsuccessfully. "Don't call me that."

Dean looked blank. “Why not? Did you quit the army?”

“What? No.”

"Then what are my orders, sir?" Dean asked, completely unmoved by Castiel’s flustered state.

Castiel sighed. "Our regiment is forming in front of the state house at noon on Monday, four days from now. I've assigned you to lead the Pioneers for the march to Yorktown. Their captain is ill and will stay behind in Philadelphia. Until we leave, you're free to do whatever you'd like. I'll be busy meeting with Rochambeau most of the time, but…"

“But what?"

"I….Sam has invited me to stay here in the meantime, which I'll decline under the circumstances. I just wanted you to know."

 _Ask me where I'm staying_ , Castiel pleaded silently.

"Is that all, sir?"

"Stop doing that, please. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Dean shook his head. "I think I made it clear that we aren’t doing anymore talking. Outside of orders, that is. Are you ordering me to talk to you?"

"Of course not."

"Then goodnight, major."

Dean closed the door, but Castiel's blood was still up. He grabbed the knob before it could be locked and strode into the bedroom, closing the door hard behind him.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"I did what I did to protect you!” Castiel blurted furiously. “And me. Our lives were _literally_ at stake if anyone found out what we were up to. Obviously I shouldn't have lied about it, but...you know what? Change of plans. I'm going to take up Sam's offer to stay here for the next few nights, so I'll be right across the hall when you're ready to talk. I'm not giving up until you convince me with absolute certainty that this can never be fixed. Until then, I still have hope for us because I love you, Dean, and I know you still love me. Goodnight."

He turned on his heel and tried his best to stalk out gracefully, but his coat got caught on the doorknob and held him prisoner momentarily. As he swung around to free himself, his sword knocked a large white pitcher off a shelf and sent it flying, along with a couple of silver candlesticks. The pitcher shattered into a dozen pieces on the hard floor.

He stood there in shock for a few moments, mind blank and heart racing.

"Oh…no…” was all he could manage as the embarrassment took over his anger.

"You sure know how to make an exit," Dean quipped dryly as he bent down to pick up the pieces. Castiel quickly did the same, and together they managed to scoop up almost everything before a housemaid who had heard the commotion came flying in to help.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said sincerely, ears burning. "It was an accident-"

"Not at all, sir, it had been rather precariously perched and I told Mrs. Winchester we should move it, but…" She deftly took up all the pieces in her apron and added breathily, "I'll sweep up the rest as soon as I can be back with a broom."

She disappeared, and Castiel was left looking at Dean, who said, "Careful. There's a candlestick almost under your foot. The other one must be under the bed."

Castiel turned to pick up the piece behind him as Dean stuck his head under the bed to grab the other one. He then handed it to Castiel, who placed both of them carefully on the corner shelf, a little further back than they were before.

Taking a huge gamble, Castiel blurted out politely, "Will you come down to dinner with us, please?"

Dean laughed. “Oh, you think breaking a pitcher will just magically make everything alright, huh?"

"It was a vase…and no, I don't. But I do think it's rude to your hosts to refuse their hospitality."

"It was a pitcher. And what do you mean _refuse_ their hospitality? I've been forced to stay here and burden them for months because of Washington’s orders, all thanks to you. They'll be thrilled to have a meal without me for a change.”

Castiel felt the jab straight in his heart, but had to admit there was no way to argue with it.

He nodded in defeat. "You have a point. Well...goodnight, then."

Castiel was red-faced as he sat down at the dinner table again. Ruby and Sam were staring at him in carefully guarded dismay.

"I’m so sorry," Castiel began, feeling like a complete fool. "That rather large white pitcher got knocked it off the shelf accidentally. It's destroyed. Please let me know how much I should reimburse you for it, and I'll be happy to help find a replacement."

Sam cleared his throat noisily, then asked mischeviously, "It just fell all by itself, huh?"

"No. My sword got caught in the handle," said Castiel casually as he unfolded his napkin in an exaggeratedly nonchalant fashion; he was well aware of how absurd and unlikely the story sounded. Sam probably thought they'd been fighting, or perhaps doing something else altogether, he realized with a blush.

Ruby nodded. "It’s not your fault. That’s the one Lisa told me was going to fall someday because the shelf was too small. I should have listened to her. Are you ready for dinner then?"

"I'm fairly starving, Mrs. Winchester," Castiel said, as he smiled thinly and picked up his wine glass and forced down a few sips.


	10. Chapter 10

**5:00am - Seven Weeks Later - Philadelphia**

Four years of being awakened at 4:30am for prayers at Yale College ensured that Castiel remained in the habit of rising every single morning about an hour before sunrise. Normally he was up and about, but this morning he stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling that he couldn't see, ignoring longings that he couldn't fulfill, tormenting himself with regrets he couldn't undo. Dean had lived, slept, and worked not even fifty feet away from him during the 3-week long Siege of Yorktown, but, being in different units, they had not cause to speak to each other even once since their bitter argument. He had noticed Dean watching him occasionally, and Dean had noticed Cas’s eyes on him, but they both utilized massive amounts of willpower over those long days to refrain from making direct eye contact. 

The siege ended 17 days ago. Dean’s troop was destined to be the last to leave Southern Virginia, having stayed behind to clean up and inventory the mass amount of weapons left behind from the British surrender. They should have left for Philadelphia already, but a fierce hurricane further south ensured that travel was impossible for several days. Castiel had no idea when Dean would make it back to Sam’s house, and had all but given up hope for any reconciliation with his friend. Not that he would have been able to accept it anyway, being completely unable to forgive himself, or to allow others to forgive him.

Rochambeau had given the entire regiment several days of rest after the long march back to the capital had been completed, and as a result, Castiel suddenly found himself with far too much empty time on his hands. Feeling rather slovenly, he sank deeper into the bed and resolved to put Dean out of his mind for the day. It would be difficult, considering he had nothing on his agenda except to go to church to pray for Dean, and that wasn't for several hours. It had been years since he had so much time to himself, and he found himself wanting none of it.

All he could think of was the visual recollection of Dean capably supervising his gun crews for 19 days only a few dozen yards away from him at the French Grand Battery, while Castiel’s mastery of languages had ensured he’d remained horrifically busy acting as a liaison between the French and American officers. It was a blessing to be kept that busy, he’d decided. Less time to think. They weren’t in any danger there, really, it being so far off the main line of fire, but Dean’s safety had been a constant worry anyway. Castiel’s heart had all but stopped cold every time he heard the spooky scream and bang of a British cannonball plowing into the earthworks just short of their position. 

Castiel knew he had to stop thinking about Dean. It wasn’t healthy. But he couldn’t help it. He told Sam he was unwell with a stomach ailment, and didn’t get out of bed for three days.

\---------

On the fourth day, Castiel awakened later than usual and dragged himself up to shave for the first time in a while, which made him feel a little better. As he turned away from his mirror in satisfaction and began to wipe away the gritty shaving powder, he was startled to see a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. He had not heard it being slid under his door…it could have been there for as long as an hour. In his haste to read it, he snatched it up and accidentally tore it in half while opening it. But there wasn't much to piece back together:

_Ready to talk. Breakfast? - DW_

Castiel threw his clothes on in a rush and, against his inclinations to race out, took a few extra minutes to ensure that he looked absolutely proper for the occasion. Then with shaky hands, he knocked on Dean's door.

"Come in."

"Good morning," Castiel greeted him in a light but respectful tone. "Welcome back. I would be pleased to dine with you. Thank you for the invitation.”

"Thought you weren't going to take me up on the offer," grumbled Dean from his desk, where he was busy writing a letter.

Castiel smiled inwardly as he watched those beautiful hands at work, not worried that Dean was hungry and grouchy. He would quickly become more cheerful upon the appearance of food. "My apologies. I was busy shaving, otherwise I would have seen your note much earlier."

"Ah. Well, I was thinking of going to a tavern, but Lisa's already offered to make a late breakfast downstairs. Ruby and Sam are out until noon."

Castiel was immensely relieved. This conversation was definitely not one he wanted to have in public.

"Alright, well…shall I meet you down there, then? Give you some time to finish your letter?"

"No. I'm done." He signed it with a flourish, then gracefully set the quill into its holder, somehow managing not to drip ink all over his puffy white sleeves. Then he re-read the letter in a way that suddenly made Castiel incredibly nervous about the contents. He couldn’t help but ask quietly, "That's…not your resignation, is it?"

Dean paused and looked at him askance. "What? No. It's a thank you letter to Sam and Ruby for their… _hospitality_ , as you put it. I’m leaving for New York tomorrow." He finished folding it up, picked up the pen again, and carefully wrote both of the Winchester’s names on the front.

Castiel was secretly impressed. He never imagined Dean as the type to write thank you letters, and quickly made a mental note to himself to do the same in the future.

"Sorry, I've been a little on edge about all of this. I didn't mean to assume."

Dean did not look at him as he reached for the little pot of sand. "I'm not going to resign, unless you keep me waiting any longer for breakfast.” He sprinkled the sand on the ink, waited a few moments for it to dry, and then blew it away. _Those lips_ , Castiel observed longingly, with a pang to his chest. _Those hands. Those eyes. Those...everything…_

Dean took his time putting everything away. It must have been less than 30 seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Castiel as he watched. First the quill cleaned off so the ink didn’t dry and clog it up. Then the ink pot closed and moved to its spot. Then the sand pot closed and moved to another spot. Then the paper into a drawer of the desk...no wrong, drawer, moved to another drawer. Didn’t fit there, moved to a third drawer. Blew on the ink some more, folded up the letter carefully, put it in a different drawer…closed all the compartments in the upper part of the desk, shut the doors...

Finally he was done and stood up, and Castiel let out the breath he’d been holding. “Are you sure they’re not coming back until noon?”

“I’m sure. Same routine every Thursday. Let’s go eat.”

\------

The two friends made pleasant but slightly strained conversation about their shared but wholly separate adventures Yorktown for a little while, traded anecdotes about the extent of the wind damage down south, and then as the last part of the breakfast arrived - a very large omelet of some sort - Dean discreetly gestured at the maid to close all the doors to the dining room. Once that was done, and they were completely alone, Dean scowled and fell silent. Castiel felt a hot wave of dread fill his chest. He said nothing, however, and allowed Dean to take the initiative, since he was the one who had requested the conversation. It didn't take long.

"I've been thinking, Castiel.”

Castiel. Not Cas. _This can’t be good._ "Yes?"

Dean took a long drink of water. "This is going to really surprise you, but here goes. I've been thinking, a lot, and going over all the different scenarios in my head…plenty of time to think lately, as you know. I eventually came to the conclusion that you did the right thing. By sending me here. By not telling me it was your idea, because you knew I’d refuse. Everything. I honestly don't see what else you could have done. I believed you when you said that you didn’t know it was going to last six months. So, long story short, I forgive you.”

Castiel was taken aback entirely, to the point where he tried to respond three times and failed.

Dean was expressionless. "Told you I'd surprise you with that. Thought you'd be happier to hear it, though."

Castiel shook his head. "But it's not exactly true. For starters, I could have… _not lied_ in that letter."

"That's exactly why I'm never going to apologize for reacting the way I did, so don't be expecting to get a sorry out of me. Now, or ever."

Castiel set his fork on the table, food long forgotten.

"Dean, I…you have no reason to apologize, nor would I accept it if you did. I'm so very sorry for all of it. I really am. You have no idea how much this has been tormenting me for months…and it will continue to do so until I am in my grave."

There was a breathy silence as they both took in each other's words, and let the waves of emotion fluctuate and die down. It was a long time before Dean spoke again.

"You’re also right in saying that it's too dangerous to keep doing what we’re doing. I don't want to have to keep putting fires out every time you get spooked. And then you pushing me away for days and weeks at a time, all of that. I can't do it. I won't do it."

"Dean-"

"There is no in-between for me anymore. We're either in a hundred percent and risk being hanged together, or we're out a hundred percent and we move on with our lives, apart. Period. There is no other choice.”

His tone was more serious than it had ever been in all of their 26 years as friends; Castiel shuddered a little as he picked his glass of water back up and took another drink.

Dean continued, “So we're going to decide what’s next right here, in this room, right now. I was so distracted in Yorktown with this hanging over my head. If we’d been stationed any closer to the front line I probably would have gotten myself killed for not being able to focus on my job. Even though a British surrender is imminent, we can’t...look, we have to make a decision, and stick to it. I can’t go on this way for even one more day.”

Castiel did not hesitate to come back with a polite retort. "I don’t enjoy getting spooked, either, and most of the time it was your fault. You do realize that, right?”

“Of course,” Dean acknowledged easily. “That’s the one thing I _will_ apologize for. I’m sorry for pushing you to do things you weren’t comfortable with. I mean, if I hadn’t done that, we might not even be having this conversation at all. Because you wouldn’t have sent me away in the first place.”

Castiel’s heart fell a little, then lightened up again. At least Dean had finally acknowledged his crucial role in this whole mess.

"Agreed. Well, I forgive you, too. So...do you want to be together again?”

“Not yet. I have conditions,” Dean replied steadily, refusing to waver in his determination, which Castiel greatly admired but also dreaded. There was no one more headstrong than Dean.

"Alright. What are they?"

"Number one is that you never lie to me again. I don’t think I’ll get past it twice. Not even sure I’m past it once, yet.”

“Alright. Agreed.”

“Number two is that you stop beating yourself up for loving me."

Castiel cocked his head, confused at that statement. "What?"

"I'm serious, Cas. I don't like it."

"Dean, I'm…it's natural, I think, considering my religious upbringing. I can't promise I won't be ashamed of something that is so obviously a sin!"

"Then promise you'll try your very best. I can’t live with you being ashamed of us being together."

Castiel nodded. "I'll try, but I think…I think that's something that won't go away. Sorry, Dean, I'm just being completely honest with you, as requested. It doesn't change the fact that I love you so much that I can't go five minutes without thinking about you, does it?"

"I suppose not," replied Dean, who was suddenly lost in thought.

“Anything else?” asked Castiel softly, choking a little on his anxiety.

Dean picked his fork back up, suddenly looking very shy. It was an odd feeling for both of them to discuss such things in a formal setting, at a nice meal. In fact, it was odd to discuss them at all. His cheeks started to redden.

“No. That’s...that’s all I want. Honesty is obviously the biggest one.”

Castiel nodded. “I have just one condition. When I tell you to stop doing something I feel is dangerous for us, you respect that and stop doing it immediately. No leniency on this one, Dean.”

Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"Agreed. I suppose this means you’ll have to put in another transfer request for me now."

Castiel's heart dropped. "Oh god. Washington is going to have a stroke when I try to explain this one away. He already complained about all the previous ones. But yes, of course I’ll do it. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Is that what _you_ want?” Dean looked almost disappointed, as if he thought Castiel was against the idea.

“Of course I do!”

“Can it even be done?”

“I think I can manage.” Castiel smiled a little. His heart was much lighter now, relieved a little of the weight of tormenting himself for so long. “I’ll go talk to him today.”

“Thank you. What do you have planned for the day, other than that?” Dean asked carefully. He still felt, in a weird way, that Castiel was now a stranger in his life and they would have to re-learn how to talk to each other.

"Nothing, actually. Not a single thing. Rochambeau gave the regiment another respite day, and ordered me to get some sleep. He actually said that if he saw me doing anything but resting or eating, he would have me cashiered."

Dean laughed a little. "The taskmaster himself told you to rest? I don’t believe it.”

Castiel grimaced at the recollection of the French general angrily upbraiding him last week for not taking care of his health. "I haven’t been myself lately, to put it lightly. But I feel better now.”

"Good. So do I.”

Castiel flushed as his consciousness - and his breeches - suddenly filled up with all the lusty thoughts and desires and needs he had been pushing aside for so many months.

Dean shifted in his chair as he saw his friend’s eyes get wider and start to sparkle with just the slightest hint of mischief. “I don’t know if you heard me mention earlier that Sam and Ruby are gone until noon.”

“I did hear that, yes.”

“That’s three hours from now. Meetings, and things.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Castiel hummed noncommittally. “Sam is a very busy man.”

“The servants are on break in the basement until they have to start preparing lunch,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, it’s best if they’re not overworked in his humid climate. Sam is such a kind master.”

Dean started to lose his seriousness suddenly, although he was fighting not to as he gestured around the room. “Have you noticed the beautiful ironwork in this house? As you mentioned, Sam spared no expense. The locks on all the bedroom doors are designed so they can’t possibly be undone from the outside.”

“Is that so? I hadn’t noticed it.” Now Castiel was starting to grin, too.

Dean set down his napkin and stood up, then replaced his chair at the table. He was dead serious again. “Well, I need to go write some more letters. Do you mind stopping by my room to review the one for General Washington before I send it? You know him better than I do, and I would appreciate your advice on one tricky paragraph in particular. I’ll be happy to show you how those door locks work as well. I think you’ll find it helps you sleep better at night, knowing how safe you are from intruders.”

Cas squirmed in his seat a little. “That’s very kind, thank you. And I’ll be happy to assist with your letter. I’m going to have another few bites of my breakfast, and then I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you, major,” Dean replied solemnly as he picked up his wineglass and quickly downed the rest of the dark liquid.

”Certainly, captain.”

Castiel watched him go, waited a few minutes - just to give himself time to settle -  and then headed up the stairs with a rare smile playing at both corners of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my self-indulgent mash-up of the fine men of Supernatural in Revolutionary War uniforms *drool* If you can find it within your heart to take 15 seconds to leave a comment of ANY kind, I would appreciate it very much. Cheers and xoxo


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